faderift | [Open] Nothing exciting happens here.

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[Open] Nothing exciting happens here.

WHO: James Norrington and anyone who cannot stand watching him doing boring things.
WHAT: James. Doing really boring things.
WHEN: First week of Justinian
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Boring

There are few things more boring than watching paint dry. James Norrington happens to be doing one of them, and it is called 'doing inventory'. No, he is not moving around, counting things, making sure all weapons and armor are accounted for. He is sitting at his new make-shift desk, painstakingly writing out numbers, and compiling costs on a separate ledger. The day is warm, Interceptor is asleep by his side, and James is just slowly, and methodically, putting in amounts of equipment and calculating cost. One line at a time. Minutes crawl past and he ... stretches, then goes back to work.

It is mind-numblingly boring to watch him.

Quill scratching on parchment. Parchment shifting. Man intent on his figures. Nothing more. No dragon attacks. No sudden exclamations of protest or fireballs or anything. Just ... accounting. Every day, normal accounting.

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Beleth is increasingly familiar with the mindless monotony of paperwork. She understands why it's there, why she needs to do it, but understanding the necessity doesn't make it any less boring.

Which is why she feels no guilt for interrupting Norrington while he's immersed in his own.

First, she stands next to his desk, waiting for whatever counts as a lull for paperwork, and then politely clears her throat. It's only after she's sure that she's gotten his attention that she speaks. "Ser Norrington, good day. I was wondering if I could ask you for your assistance for a quick moment?"

Norrington looked up from the paperwork, blinking in surprise at Beleth. Well, she said his name, so she couldn't possibly be speaking to anyone else. His green eyes narrowed thoughtfully, lips pressed together, before he leaned all the way back.

"Good ... day, Madame Beleth." He stated slowly, arching an eyebrow at her, "I would be happy to help - ah - what precisely do you need help from me for?"

Of all the people who he thought would ask him for help - Beleth was very low on the list.

There's a knee jerk moment where she's surprised by Madame Beleth. Two words she doesn't usually hear together. She almost requests a different, more informal title (just Beleth, for instance), but stops. She's supposed to be an Important Person now, kind of. Which means she gets titles. Probably? She needs to look that up.

His compliance is met with a polite smile, a grateful head bob, and then Beleth stepping away, towards a nearby bookshelf. The reason why she had requested assistance of Norrington, and why him in particular, became abundantly clear, as she gestured to one of the books on the highest shelf--well out of reach of a 5'3 woman.

"If you could, ah. Get that book for me? The light blue one, right there. I would be very grateful. Um--Please." When you're an elf living in a world designed by humans, you get accustomed to having to get outside assistance to fetch things outside of your reach. But even so, it felt slightly awkward. At least she could trust, from what she knew about Norrington, that he'd most likely be polite about it.

he is surprised by her surprise - what did she expect him to call her? Certainly not any of the slurs he knows are bandied about in Kirkwall. He's been through too much with the elven friends he has made here. They have his respect and admiration for all the bullshit they have to put up with.

He pushes himself to his feet, curiosity driving him forward to where ... she gestured to where there were books on the top shelf where she couldn't reach.
He looked at the book, then back at her, then up at the book shelf again. Repressing a snort, he reached out and plucked the book easily enough, and then deposited it into her waiting hands.

Then he looked at her with a bland expression, polite as always, "Do you need more books? As I am standing right here."

She didn't quite expect slurs, no. If Norrington were the type to sling around slurs, Beleth was pretty sure she would've heard about it from various parties by now. What she'd expected was what most people called her--'Beleth', with no madames about it. Not that she's going to complain, mind you.

Okay, she might complain, but if she does, it'll be about the way he takes his time eyeballing her, and the book, and then her again. It earns him a twist of her lips, a slight narrowing of her eyes. Laugh it up, buddy. She'll be here all week. Nevertheless, she's grateful that the book has finally been retrieved, and without her having to scale the bookshelf.

"Thank you," Along with a polite head bob, then a pause, as she ponders his offer. "I'd take to take away more time from your work. Is it something Lord Harlungin tasked you with? I wouldn't want you getting in trouble turning work in, just to help me."

Well, they weren't ... close, so formality seemed like the best way to go. Madame Beleth seemed more appropriate, considering her new position as the head of the scouts. He did like to give people their due.

He is not going to laugh at her. He might smirk at himself as being used as human footstool, but that's about it.

"You are quite welcome." Another pause, before he cleared his throat. "No ... no, just busywork. Something to fill the time." If he didn't stop, he didn't have to think about anything else outside of the Inquisition.

Do you know what is not boring, James? Cats. Cats are not boring. Well, they can be when they are being decidedly lazy sort of cats, but then they're at least cute, so it somewhat mitigates the boring. But-! An active cat, a playful cat, is never boring. Especially when they spy a feather quivering and shifting. So easily distracted, was a young cat.

Which is how James would find a cat suddenly on his shoulder, reaching out to try and bat at the pen with a paw and a chirruping sound, tail flicking.

Followed swiftly by another James in the doorway, panting. "Leonard!"

If there's one quality in a person Cade appreciates, it's being boring. He's happy to be boring with James, spending at least part of the day helping with the counting and the checking and the writing, occupying his time here as promised instead of going out in the world to be a problem.
But being who he is, Cade can only sit still for so long without starting to worry about something. His leg has begun to bounce and his quill to tap, drumming out a faint but repetitive sound on the desk.

Cats are absolutely not boring when they suddenly jump on you, and attack your quill. Even more exciting is when your mabari is awoken and starts barking at your shoulder, trying to get to said cat.

And now you have James, jerking upwards, to keep the cat away from Interceptor, as he looks over at Jim, his scowl looking downright aggravated, "Yes, I should have figured. Ow. OW. Claws!"

Of course he should have expected claws into his skin, Interceptor was bouncing all around him. "Down! HEEL!"

James is able to ignore it for the first fifteen minutes. After twenty minutes he is frowning down at his paperwork. A full half-hour in, he pulled his gaze away from the one line he had been staring at for two minutes without processing it, and gave Cade a raised eyebrow.

"Cade, is there something on your mind?" It's that sort of mild politeness that Norrington has mastered with the underlying Irritated As All Get Out. It really is his power, honestly.

"Hm?"
Cade looks up at him, the tip of the quill now pressed against his mouth, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Who, me?

"You seem a trifle ... nervous."

Yes, that is the word he is going to use. Nervous. Not fidgetting like a five year old listening to the Chant. Just nervous. Just looking as if something had caught his attention and he was worried about it. Clearly not irritating in the way he kept fidgetting and tapping his quill. Absolutely not.

"Stop moving. He has to grip tighter when you jerk around like that," Kirk clucked his tongue, hurrying over all the same, shushing at Interceptor as he reached up to unhook Leonard from James' shoulder and begin the dangerous task of working him back into his little harness.

"Sorry," he apologized, Leonard giving a disgruntled meow as Kirk put his paw through one loop. "He got away from me, started chasing after something or other. Sometimes I forget how damn fast he is."

"Well I am certain you would rather have him grip tighter then get attacked by a mabari." While Jim dealt with his pet, James dealt with his, with a sharply ordered, "Heel."

Interceptor came immediately to attention, even though he quivered. James held his hand up, the signal that the dog was to hold his place until James released him. Which he wouldn't do, until Jim safely had the cat taken care of.

"I am not surprised the cat got away -- I am surprised over what you kept him in to prevent that." He eyed the harness. "What is that?"

Ordinarily Geneviève wouldn't break stride when she walked by someone doing mind-numbing paperwork. Really that kind of tedium is something that fails to register on her radar. However she's passed by James three times now in the past hour and he hasn't moved an inch. If it weren't for the movement of quill, she'd think he had died in his chair.

She stops on whatever mission she's been tasked with (snooping around out of boredom, mostly) and turns her full attention to the desked templar instead.

"I've heard healers say that if you sit too long in one position blood will pool in your legs and kill you. How long have you been sitting there, doing that... la corvée?"

James doesn't even look up from the paperwork that he is so dutifully scribbling on, marking another line in the ledger as completed and putting another note on his report. In fact, his tone is barely registering paying attention at all, as he murmurs, "About four hours, and I am not dead yet, so they might have been over-exaggerating."

Another careful line followed, "They do that, to make you do something healthy, I imagine."

She's never been a fan of feeling like people aren't paying attention to her while she speaks, so she sidles close enough that she can brace her hands on the desk, leaning forward. There's a not-so-subtle way she moves, she is used to turning heads and expects it.

"Or at least to encourage you to take a break. So many numbers are good for no one. I should know. My uncle was obsessed with numbers. Killed himself. Very tragic." Said uncle died before she was born and there were other reasons aside from an obsession with numbers that contributed to his death, but semantics.

Well, that movement gets James to frown at her hands, and congratulations, he moves that frown up to her face. Lovely face, no doubt about it, but a presumptuous one by the way she is leaning on her desk.

One eyebrow raises, "And now, I know you are being dramatic. However, if it shall grant you peace ... " He puts all the paperwork carefully together, puts the stone he has on the makeshift desk atop it, and then stands up.

And immediately regrets it, as his back protests about being in such a cramped position for so long. He grimaces, putting a hand to his back as pins and needles run through his legs.

"Ah!"

Her lips press into a slightly impish smile as he finally looks up at her, as unhappy as he may look. That smile disappears when he stands and is clearly uncomfortable. Her eyebrows raised, she straightens up herself, gesturing with her hand.

"See? I've just saved your life. Another ten minutes and you'd be dead."

Well, yes, she's quite lovely. However, if James let beauty boss him around, where would he be? Right in the same sort of situation where all the templars who went to the Blooming Rose were in, frankly. However he couldn't say much because he was too busy trying to make his legs move after being so still it was ridiculous.

"Yes. Thank you. Very much. For not letting me die." He huffed, pushing up. His legs were all pins and needles.

She may be bossy, but she isn't without sympathy. Letting out a huff of a laugh she waves her hand in a sweeping gesture towards the doorway.

"Come with me for a walk, that should set you right again. You can even lean on me if you can't manage it on your own, I am a Chevalier after all, I would not abandon one in distress."

He winced as he limped forward, putting one hand on his lower back. Right ... walking this out. Not a terrible idea. Interceptor flicked his ears and lumbered to his feet, looking much more comfortable on his feet than his master and ready for a little exercise.

"Right. Well. Fine. Just no laughing." He stated firmly, as he moved towards the doorway slowly.

"Oh I wouldn't dare," she replies, the somberness of her face slightly undercut by the still-amused tone of her voice. "That is why I offered my arm. If anyone sees us, they'll just assume you are the gentleman escorting a lady unfamiliar with the Gallows around."

She's an expert at concealing one's shortcomings with the trappings of propriety. If she hadn't become a Chevalier that likely would have become her life's work, after all.

"Hm, I have the feeling you would dare just to have some fun with me." He stated wryly, before that wry expression grew. "Yes, a gentleman with some sort of leg condition - sweet Andraste, that hurts."

Ugh. Spines. Why were they invented? Ah yes to keep one mostly upright.

He does let her go first though. Chevalier and lady, all in one. Only polite to let her lead the way.

Kirk wished that Leonard was so well behaved, but that was probably asking the impossible when it came to a cat. He might as well hope for the sun to reverse course. Leonard and Nikita both were quite willful children - which was both amusing and endlessly aggravating.

"It's a harness, like on a horse," Kirk supplied as he got Leonard's other foot in and quickly fastened the buckle along the back. There, no more escapes. Clearly he had put it to loose, misjudging Leonard's size from his fur. "I use it to keep him near me when we're out - has a little lead and such. He just managed to slip it this time."

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[Open] Nothing exciting happens here.

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